Occhiolism
by livewiresandwildfires
Summary: Alex has to believe in the side he is fighting for, has to believe that he's on the good side. But the world isn't as black and white as Alex would wish, and it's time for him to learn. His teacher is unorthodox, the classroom not ideal, but he learns anyway. He only has to cross paths with an assassin once to gain a little perspective.


**Disclaimer:** All rights to Alex Rider's world go to Anthony Horowitz. Any and all recognizable works do not belong to me. Any ideas, quotes, references, etc. are credited to their rightful owners.

 **Warnings:** language and death.

 **Summary:** Alex has to believe in the side he is fighting for, has to believe that he's on the good side. But the world isn't as black and white as Alex would wish, and it's time for him to learn. His teacher is unorthodox, the classroom not ideal, but he learns anyway. He only has to cross paths with an assassin once to gain a little perspective.

\- Constructive criticism is welcome, but be respectful and kind please. I'll try to fix any mistakes I make.

\- Please don't take offence to any political, governmental, geographical, cultural, etc. mistakes I might make. I try to do my research, but I'm no expert.

\- Enjoy!

* * *

It was a government base, Alex could tell. No one had told him, and he hadn't asked, but seeing it in person was different from the schematics he'd memorized.

From the blueprints, it was hard to tell. But looking out the window, less than two minutes from the drop point, it was obvious.

An American government building. Alex was going to break into it.

With one SAS team - four soldiers - Alex was supposed to bust into a government building. Minimal security, sure, but still.

He wondered what kind of information required a team to break into the base of a currently cooperative government.

Whatever. It wasn't Alex's job to ask questions. He wasn't sure he wanted the answers anyway.

Alex raced after his team, hearing the ear shattering blasts of guns up ahead. As he ran, the shots died down to nothing. He stopped just around the corner of the control room.

From his back pocket, he pulled out a small hand mirror; slightly cracked from his fall earlier, but it would do the trick.

Holding it up, he used it to peer around the wall and into the room.

The four SAS soldiers seemed to have the room under control. Well, more accurately, the three soldiers. Hound was up on a daise at the front of the room, hands flying over the control panel. Minx hopped up to the raised platform to plug the flash drive into the port. Meanwhile, Croc had the General tied up and at gunpoint.

The General was, apparently, after whatever was on the computer as well. But his intentions were probably more sinister.

Several enemy bodies lay scattered on the hard metal floor.

The last SAS soldier was lying just inside the door frame with a bullet in his skull.

Alex was just about to make himself known when another shot rang out. He flinched ever so slightly, but kept his arm straight and his mirror angled towards the room.

He watched in the reflection as Croc fell to his knees, already dead before he toppled forward and hit the ground face down. The bullet had torn through the soldiers back, through the heart and into the wall. Blood sprayed from the wound and covered the General in a fine red mist.

Hound flinched up on the daise, hitting a few more bottoms on the panel and trusting his comrades (comrade now, singular) to protect his back.

Minx spun around, drawing his gun with near superhuman speed. Unfortunately, his opponent was more superhuman than him. Minx hit the rail, twisted and fell off the platform with a bloody hole in his forehead.

Hound spun around, going for his gun just as the other shooter came into view of Alex's mirror. Alex clutched his gun ready to turn the corner and shoot this bastard in the back, despite how dishonourable that may be. No room for honour in this line of work.

Just before Alex could go around the wall, he caught a flash of something in his small, busted mirror. A little glimpse of blue, like chips of ice or a shard of fallen sky.

Yassen Gregorovich.

Alex hadn't seen the assassin in nearly a year - not since they'd briefly crossed paths in Prague last February.

He hadn't even realized Yassen was in Prague until the day before he left, and Alex had only caught a brief look at him. The assassin had been taking off in a helicopter at the same airport that Alex was leaving from.

Alex hadn't mentioned it to MI6, he had assumed they had known. And now Yassen was here, disrupting another one of Alex's mission.

Yassen was here, and he just put a bullet in Hound's head. Damn it.

The assassin hadn't noticed Alex yet. Yassen moved up to the platform, dodging Hound's dead body. A few taps on the control panel and Yassen was removing the flash drive that Minx had inserted.

"Well, it fucking took you long enough," the General spoke from where he was still tied up on the floor. Covered in blood (his own and Croc's) and bruises, the hardened older man still glared with defiance and indignation.

"Sorry for the delay," Yassen spoke, mirroring the General's harsh Romanian accent. Then blood bloomed from the General's temple, both of them as the bullet went through and through.

Alex watched all this in the small view of his hand mirror. He watched the assassin slowly lower his revolver to his hip - not putting it away, but thinking that with all four SAS men down as well as the General, there weren't anymore threats to worry about.

Yassen turned to head out the way he came. He had the flash drive in his pocket and, as Alex watched, a bullet flew from the gun and into the hard drive of the panel. Alex wouldn't be getting any kind of information off it now.

So Alex raised his own gun, and fired.

His silenced barrel didn't make a sound, but the noise of the light fixture he'd hit was earth shattering.

Yassen twisted towards the sound, firing towards the perceived threat. Alex stepped out from behind the wall in the same motion - the mirror he'd held shattered to pieces behind him.

Alex pointed the muzzle of his gun at Yassen Gregorovich's chest, and got the same treatment in return.

Sadly for Yassen, Alex had been counting the shots. One - into Croc. Two - killed Minx. Three - Hound. Four - downed the General. Five - there went the hard drive. And six - that bullet was in the wall thanks to Alex's feint with the light fixture.

That's six bullets, and Alex recognized the type of revolver Yassen had; six bullets was all the assassin had.

He could see the spare ammo across Yassen's chest, but there hadn't been a chance to reload. And to try to make a go for the ammunition now would be Yassen admitting to Alex that he was essentially weaponless. Yassen didn't know that Alex knew he was out of bullets.

"I'm going to need that drive before you go," Alex's voice was steady and carried easily across the room.

"You'll have to shoot me, Alex. I don't give up so easy." Yassen hoisted the (empty) gun up, levelling it at Alex's face.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Drop it," he wasn't sure if he meant the useless gun, or Yassen's useless act. "I've got a job to do."

"Why do you let them use you, Alex? You're smart, you're young, you could get out." Yassen lowered the gun slightly, frowning over the barrel at him.

Alex wasn't fooled. He'd been apart of the game long enough to know what Yassen was doing. Using his first name, like some kind of endearment. Bringing up his plight with MI6. Complimenting him and trying to convince him that MI6 need him more than he needed MI6.

Yassen was sympathizing with him. Coercing him to lower his gun by appealing to his better self - appealing to the part of him that wasn't corrupted by MI6 and wasn't completely hooked on the spy life.

Alex wasn't going to fall for it.

Yassen was an assassin. The man standing in front of Alex, empty gun in a loose grip as he tried to convince Alex not to shoot, was a villain.

Yassen was the bad guy, Alex was the good guy. Good guys win and bad guys lose and Alex wasn't going to be the exception to this rule; and he told Yassen as much.

The assassin let the handgun slip from his grip. Dropping all pretence that he was a threat because Alex clearly wasn't buying it.

"Things aren't so black and white, Agent Rider. Tell me, what is your agency planning on using this for?" Yassen pulled out the flash drive, dangling it between them.

"Not my division." Not Alex's problem - it wasn't his job to ask those kinds of questions. Alex watched Yassen closely, waiting for the assassin to pull something - to attack him or run.

Yassen laughed - actually laughed. With a gun to his heart, the assassin laughed. Alex didn't think he had ever heard the Russian make that noise. "Do you even know what's on this? Do you have any idea what you just risked your life for?"

"Not. My. Division. They don't tell, and I don't ask."

The assassin nodded, smiled a little, and looked Alex in the eye. "Fine. Then I'll tell you. This drive holds the information for over a dozen people that are currently in American Witness Protection. People with families - with kids - that have been targeted and are in hiding. One of these people is an ex CIA agent whose last mission was a joint op with your MI6 in Bucharest. The agent made some powerful enemies and all of her team, including many of your agents, were killed, but she made it out without a scratch. MI6 wanted to question the agent, but the CIA hid her before they got a chance. MI6 wants to pull this woman and her family - her husband and three kids - out of their safehouse and back into the world that almost cost the agent her life. The CIA hired me to take this -" he brandished the flash drive in Alex's direction, "-and destroy it."

Alex frowned, "Why would they need to hire an assassin? It's their information, and it's in their database. If they wanted to delete it or hide it, they could do it themselves." Not to mention the General seemed pretty sure Yassen was on his side - up until he got a bullet to the brain.

"There is a good relationship between British and American intelligence right now, the CIA doesn't want to jeopardize that."

"They're using you to make it look like an accident. Like they aren't to blame. Like the good General here is to blame." Using the General as a proxy. Yassen pretended to be getting the drive for him, then stabbed him in the back (shot him in the head). Now there was nothing to tie the CIA to the unfortunate break in.

"Yes."

Alex held out the hand that wasn't clutching his gun, palm up. "Give it to me."

A disappointed look passed over Yassen's face, "Alex…"

"Give it," Alex wasn't sure he believed Yassen, but it didn't matter. Alex wasn't letting Yassen leave with that flash drive.

Yassen made a motion with his hand, then tossed the flash drive at him. Alex snatched it out of the air without taking his eyes (or gun) off Yassen.

He turned over the smooth metallic stick in his hand. He could go - mission complete, he could hand the drive over to '6 and be done with this whole mess of a mission. No questions asked.

A good agent would go. A good agent wouldn't listen to the wanted murder standing a few feet away from them.

A good agent would put a bullet in Yassen Gregorovich the first chance they got.

Alex was a good agent.

He was an excellent agent. He was seasoned, a veteran, and he knew what he was supposed to do.

But curiosity was always Alex's downfall.

A lot of the time, the curiosity made him a better agent. Sometimes though, it made him do things like this.

Maybe he wasn't such a good agent after all.

Alex sighed and lowered his gun. He clipped it into his hip holster. Maybe not the smartest thing he could have done, putting away the weapon that kept the assassin at bay; but if Yassen did make a move… Alex was a quick draw.

He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a cellphone. It wasn't his MI6 issued phone, he wasn't even supposed to have it. Smithers had put it together for him - their little secret, MI6 didn't have to know.

He slipped off the metal covering on the side of the phone to reveal an adaptable USB port - Smithers really had thought of everything. Popping the flash drive into the side of the cell, he hit accept when the screen asked if he wanted to download. Seconds later he had the contents of the USB at his fingertips.

With a short glance at Yassen, who hadn't moved an inch, he turned his attention to his cellphone screen. He skimmed through the gist of the information.

… File 1/15

… CIA agent Lillian Elizabeth Lyle…

… Female, Age 29…

Spouse: Spencer Scott Lyle

Amelia Lyle, Age 7

Zackary Lyle, Age 5

Jamie Lyle, Age 3

… located in safe house number 32, Arizona State…

… 974 Cave Creek Street, Scottsdale…

… inducted into Witness Protection 01/03/16… threats presented by the Armata Subterană located in Romania… British Military Intelligence poses a threat to the family's anonymity… People of interest… Director T. Jones (MI6) … General Constantin Dalca (AS) … all information localized to Arizona Base 1 effective immediately … back ups located ...

Alex shut the phone off, he'd seen enough. He bit his lip, looking up at Yassen. The assassin hadn't moved, hadn't shifted, barely seemed to have taken a breath. He just stood there and watched.

Pocketing his cell, Alex pulled out a lighter. He dangled the flash drive in front of him. A flick of his thumb sparked the lighter and he held the flame under the drive. He watched with a passive face as the metal and plastic slowly melted and dripped to the floor at his feet.

When the drive was thoroughly destroyed, he shut the lid of the lighter, snuffing out the flame. He dropped the deformed USB and stomped it to pieces.

"You can tell the CIA that the mission was successful," Alex said in a clear voice, not betraying any emotion.

"And you?" Yassen asked, "You'll tell MI6 the mission was a failure?"

Alex smirked, "I didn't even know what the mission was." How could he fail a mission he didn't even know the objective of? That didn't seem fair.

Yassen nodded, blue eyes flicking to the gun on Alex's hip before turning and leaving. Alex listened to the quiet footfalls fade to silence. He counted to one hundred, giving the assassin time for a clean getaway. Then he hit a button on his MI6 issue phone, calling for an extraction team.

He wandered out the way he came, passing the bodies of his team mates. As he made his way through the halls, he thought about the agent in hiding - the only one in her whole team to survive, walked away without a scratch. Being so close to danger that your life could end in a second, yet you survive. Alex could relate.

When Alex made it outside, he pulled out his phone and opened it. The files from the USB were short and to the point; he read through them once. Twice.

No hidden secretes. No codes or messages. Just the housing information for several families in Arizona safe houses.

Alex deleted the files.

When he looked up, he could see the approaching aircraft from the SAS. A minute out, maybe less. Then he looked over his shoulder - a small black speck was on the horizon. Alex could just make out the outline of the helicopter that would take Yassen Gregorovich, world renowned assassin, to wherever it is assassins go.

"Agent Rider? Report."

Alex turned to see his ride had shown up. A sergeant was standing at the bay doors, glaring.

"Mission success, sir," he answered, climbing into the jet.

And it was; to Alex, the mission was a success. Not his mission, per se, but they didn't need to know that just yet.

Alex thought he had made the right decision. Maybe MI6 wouldn't see it that way, but Alex was here to save lives and that's what he had done.

The world wasn't so black and white. Yassen Gregorovich was a bad guy, but today he'd been good. Alex Rider was a good guy, but he hadn't asked and he hadn't been told and he had very nearly done a very bad thing.

The world wasn't black and white.

Alex had to stop living like it was.

* * *

 **Occhiolism: the awareness of the smallness of your perspective.**


End file.
